Work Text:
I come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak of that whereof I am accused and condemned to die, but I pray to God save the King and send him a long reign over you, for a gentler nor a more merciful prince was there never, and to me he was ever a good, a gentle, and sovereign lord.
May 19th, 1536. Anne Boleyn was executed.
Almost five hundred years later, Anne was now living a revived life with the other wives of King Henry VIII. It was difficult to adjust to the modern world when centuries of unresolved hatred for each other hung above the queens' heads, but they managed.
Today was a horrible day. The other queens probably had no idea, but to Anne, she might as well have been beheaded a thousand times over. It was May 19th. Even though it was centuries ago, Anne could picture everything perfectly. The migraine she had was a mere minor inconvenience compared to the searing pain in her neck.
Anne never cried. She found it to be a sign of weakness. Today, however, she couldn't seem to stop the tears from flowing. The emotional and physical pain was unbearable. She wasn't sure how much longer she could handle it. She laid on her tear-soaked pillow with the lights off and curtains closed. Nothing was able to ease the pain.
"Anne?" came a voice from the other side of the door.
It was the only person in the household Anne didn't have something against. Katherine Howard. Kat was the youngest of the group at just sixteen years old. She had a bright and bubbly personality, and Anne couldn't remember a time she didn't have a smile on her face. They were cousins, although they didn't have much interaction in the past. Anne wiped her tears to the best of her ability.
"Come in," Anne invited.
Kat entered with a water bottle in one hand. Anne noticed that her usual energy was missing.
"I brought you some water," Kat said, setting the drink on Anne's nightstand. "How are you feeling?"
No one ever checked in on Anne. It confused her.
"Why do you ask?" Anne asked.
"The date," Kat replied softly. "I thought maybe you'd be in some pain."
That was an understatement. Anne still appreciated the thought, though.
"How did you know?"
"I was hurting on my death date, and since we both died the same way, I figured you would feel the same."
"Wait, your death date passed and you didn't tell anyone?"
"Firstly, this isn't about me. Second, you didn't tell anyone either.
"Fair enough," Anne sighed. "You're right, though, I didn't tell anyone, so how did you know?"
"Because I care about you."
"That's a new one," Anne scoffed.
"Not really," Kat shrugged. "We all care about you, we just don't show it. Even Lina and Jane do."
Catherine of Aragon—or Catalina as she was called in the house—and Anne Boleyn were notoriously known for being enemies. However, Anne didn't despise Catalina nearly as much as she did Jane Seymour. The idea of either of them caring about her seemed nearly impossible.
"I'll leave you alone now," Kat sighed. "Please let me know if you need anything."
Anne nodded as Kat exited the room. Tears started streaming immediately. She was in so much pain. The thick, jagged scar around her neck was throbbing. Each little pulse sent pain shooting through her entire upper half. The pain was a reminder of all the mistakes she had made in the past. It reminded her of the motto she had embroidered on her livery. Ainsi sera, groigne qui groigne, which translated to "Grumble all you like, this is how it's going to be". The hypocrisy was almost funny to Anne.
There was a knock on her door, but it swung open before she had a chance to ask who it was. Through a blur of tears, she was able to make out the tall stature of Catalina. No matter how hard she tried, Anne couldn't stop the tears. If anything, the flow became stronger at the sight of Catalina. Most of the queens admired how well Catalina was able to keep herself composed, so Anne was a bit ashamed that she had to see her like this.
Silently, Catalina made her way to Anne’s bed. She crawled in next to Anne and tugged the blankets over them. She pulled Anne closer to her.
“Shh, mi amor,” Catalina whispered, running her fingers through Anne’s hair. “It’s okay. You're okay.”
Anne sobbed into Catalina’s chest. There was an odd feeling of comfort. Was she allowed to be happy around Catalina? She had stolen her husband, but that was half a millennium ago. Would Catalina be able to put the past in the past?
“I’m sorry,” Anne manages to say in a weak voice.
“For what?” Catalina gently tilted Anne’s head up so they were now making eye contact.
“Everything.”
“Anne,” Catalina sighed. “You have nothing to apologize for. If there is, I forgive you.”
A different feeling stirred inside Anne, a feeling she had been repressing for months. The butterflies she got around Catalina that Anne tried so hard to ignore. She didn't love Lina. No, she couldn’t. It was sinful for a woman to love another woman. Not only that, but she was sure Catalina hated her.
“Lina?” Anne blinked away tears.
“Yes?” Catalina wiped stray strands of hair from Anne’s sweat-drenched face.
“Am I allowed to love you?”
The question slipped before Anne had a chance to stop it. She braced herself for the storm of yelling that was sure to come. Instead, Catalina let out a light laugh.
“Depends,” Catalina said. “Am I allowed to love you back?”
Anne was shocked. Did Lina feel the same way? Surely this had to be some sort of sick joke.
“If you feel that way, yeah,” Anne half-joked.
“Then it's settled,” Catalina smiled. She planted a soft kiss on Anne’s head.
“Wait, you're not joking?” Anne asked, trying to ignore the burning pain in her neck.
“Why would I be? Are you joking?”
“No, I'm—sorry. I’m so—”
“Shh,” Catalina smiled and pressed her finger against Anne’s lips. “Just shut up and kiss me.”
Anne swore she saw sparks fly. Their lips met, sending an almost electric current through Anne’s veins. As if it were magic, Anne’s pain subsided. Suddenly, everything felt okay. She loved Catalina, and Catalina loved her. It was an absurd thing to think about. Weren't they supposed to hate each other?
Oh, well. They were happy, and that's all that mattered.